


The Aftermath

by elvendelights



Category: Pathfinder: Kingmaker (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, did anyone else fail every single dialogue option during this event?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26774671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvendelights/pseuds/elvendelights
Summary: Occurs in the Season of Bloom, directly after the altercation with the villagers.When the Baroness fails to calm her storming citizens, she is forced to do the unthinkable. Tristian finds her in a time of need, and offers a moment of respite.
Relationships: The Baroness/Tristian (Pathfinder: Kingmaker)
Kudos: 11





	The Aftermath

She sat in her throne, eyes glassy, full of clouds and wet with a grief she could not vanquish. Blood, nearly dried, coated her face and armor, clotted her hair, and stained her skin a nasty red. She shook her head slightly, a tiny movement, as if she moved to quickly she would fall apart. “They gave me no choice,” she whispered. 

Tristian stood before the throne, eyeing the broken baroness. Jhod and the others had long fled the courtroom, but Tristian didn’t feel right leaving her in her current state. Besides her labored breathing, the expansive room was silent. He linked his fingers together, taking comfort in the contact of his own warmth. He hadn’t been present for the riot but seeing the gore before the building was enough to paint a picture in his mind. He grieved for those lost. But he trusted her. Had there been any other way, she would have done it differently. 

She shook her head, this time hard and fast, and her face tightened as she withheld a sob. He could see her lips quivering. “They gave me no choice,” she repeated softly. She didn’t look to him, opting to stare over his shoulder. 

Not able to take such grief, Tristian strode forward. He retrieved a bottle of water from the table and a napkin. The food they had all been eating moments before the riot broke out was still laid out. He approached her and kneeled before her. She didn’t register his proximity, too preoccupied with the memories of the slaughter. He fought his own sorrow with action. Healing people had always made him feel useful, and while the Baroness had scarcely a scratch on her, he supposed he could heal her in another way. 

Tristian doused the cloth in water, set the bottle down, and wrung the cloth out so it wasn’t sopping wet. Suddenly nervous, he paused. Perhaps she simply wished to be alone and he was forcing his presence onto her. Her brow twitched as she continued to fall to pieces and he surged forward. He pressed the wet cloth to her forehead. She still didn’t look to him. 

“They wouldn’t listen,” she said. “I tried…”

“I know,” Tristian said.

“They were going to hurt me… I…” Her breath ruffled his lashes. He dabbed at the gore bleaching her skin. The smell would haunt him, but despite this, he was feeling better already. “They so wanted me to be their enemy.”

“Some people cannot be swayed,” he said, readjusting his grip on the cloth so he would be touching her face with a clean portion of the fabric. He moved to her cheek, right beneath her vacant gaze. “Some people are so blinded by their own fury, there is nothing you could do,” he said. His words left him quickly, and he suddenly feared them. What was he saying? Was she even listening? 

“There was a time where they trusted me, loved me. I was just trying to protect them, but they didn’t, they couldn’t listen.” She shook her head and he held her chin with his free hand, knuckles framing her face to halt the movement. He rubbed her skin, near tender with the action.

“Love is like that,” he said. “Especially for the likes of you. It’s fleeting.” He moved to her lips and she suddenly looked to him, truly saw him, and he paused, not expecting such startling attention turned his way. Her mouth was pressed into a firm line. A frown. He went rigid. He was just rambling, he hadn’t meant it, and yet, she looked so agitated, he thought it best to flee before he embarrassed himself further.

“I don’t believe that,” she whispered, her voice hit him in a strong wave. Her hand grabbed his hand at her lips. “Love must remain.” She sounded so incredibly small, he writhed beneath the vulnerability. “Love must weigh, something, anything, anything at all.” She was shaking her head again, and finally, she lost the battle with her own grief. She bent her chin and he watched as she melted beneath the burning sorrow. She caught a sob behind her teeth, but her body pulsed with emotion, and she leaned forward, into his touch. 

He cautiously grabbed her by the neck and pulled her closer. Without so much as a second thought, he placed a kiss at her forehead, right between her tear-riddled eyes. He lingered there, let the touch saturate. They shared warmth for a moment. “If I know anything,” he whispered, pulling away, “is that you are strong enough to redefine the word.”

She cried for a moment before nodding, and he could see her swallowing the grief, the agony. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” she whispered so quietly it was as if the words were only meant for him.

Tristian nodded, his silver hair tickled his jaw. “Worry about that tomorrow.” He caught her eye and made sure to hold it. Carefully, he finished his job and dabbed the corner of her mouth with the clean cloth. “Tonight,” he whispered, surprising himself with how small his voice became in her presence, “tonight, you must rest.” He watched as she slowly nodded, blinked back her tears, and finally allowed him to comfort her. 


End file.
